The Boy in the Dress Read online

  Dennis walked home feeling a bit brighter. He’d even laughed at some of the stupid videos they’d found, particularly one of a cat clambering over a baby and putting its bum in the baby’s face. But when he walked in he saw that Dad was still sitting at the kitchen table where they had left him, with another can of lager but the same cold and soggy chips.

  “Hi, Dad,” said Dennis, trying to sound happy to see him.

  His dad looked up for a moment, and then sighed heavily.

  John had already gone to bed. When Dennis went up, John didn’t even bother saying anything. As they lay there the silence was deafening. There was nothing that could be said. Dennis couldn’t sleep at all, and spent all night watching the curtain edges grow light.

  Only one thing stopped him suffocating: thinking about Lisa, the world she had opened up for him, and that sequined orange dress, sparkling and sparkling and sparkling in the sunlight…

  ∨ The Boy in the Dress ∧

  8

  Lying on the Carpet with Lisa

  Lisa held out the orange sequined dress. “I finished it!” she said.

  It was the next Saturday and back in Lisa’s bedroom she and Dennis had been poring over every page of the new issue of Vogue, before she surprised him.

  The dress was perfect.

  “That is the most beautiful thing…” said Dennis, “that I’ve ever seen.”

  “Why, thank you, Dennis!” Lisa laughed a little, slightly embarrassed by the weight of the compliment. “Actually, I want you to have it. It’s a present.”

  “For me?” asked Dennis.

  “Yes, Dennis, you love it so much. You should have it.”

  “I couldn’t…”

  “Yes, you could.” She handed him the dress.

  “Er, thanks Lisa,” said Dennis, taking it from her. It was heavier than he imagined, and the sequins felt unlike anything he had felt before. It was a work of art. Quite simply the best present he had ever been given. But where would he keep it? He couldn’t exactly hang it next to his anorak in the wardrobe he shared with his brother.

  And what was he going to do with it?

  “Why don’t you try it on?” said Lisa.

  Dennis’s stomach did a flip. He felt how a new companion on Dr Who must feel when they’re about to enter the Tardis for the first time. Now this really was going to be different.

  “It’ll be fun,” said Lisa.

  Dennis looked at the dress. It would be fun to try it on. “Well…if you’re sure.”

  “I’m sure.”

  Dennis took a deep breath.

  “Just for a moment, though,” he said.

  “Yay!”

  Dennis started to take off his clothes, then suddenly felt really embarrassed.

  “Don’t worry, I won’t look,” said Lisa, closing her eyes.

  Dennis undressed down to his socks and pants, and then stepped into the dress and pulled it up over his shoulders. It felt different to wearing his normal boy’s clothes. The fabric felt so unfamiliar next to his skin – all silky and smooth. He reached around for the zip at the back.

  “I’m not sure I can…”

  “Let me,” said the expert, opening her eyes. “Turn around.” She guided the zip up his back. “It looks great. How does it feel?”

  “Nice. It feels nice.” In fact it felt more than nice; it felt wonderful. “Can I see in the mirror?”

  “Not yet. We haven’t found the shoes!” Lisa pulled out some stunning high-heeled gold shoes with red soles on the bottom. “I got these in Oxfam. They’re Christian Louboutins, but the old dear in the shop only charged me two quid for them!”

  Dennis wondered if Christian Louboutin might ever need them back.

  He bent down to put the shoes on. “You’d better take your socks off first,” Lisa said, looking down at his bedraggled grey socks. His big toe poked out of one particularly large hole.

  They were rather spoiling the look.

  “Oh, yes, of course,” said Dennis, before tugging them off, and placing his feet in the narrow shoes. The heels were quite high and he felt for a second that he might topple over. Lisa held his hand to steady him.

  “Now can I look in the mirror?” he asked.

  “You haven’t got any make-up on yet.”

  “No, Lisa, no!”

  “You’ve got to do this properly, Dennis.” Lisa reached for her make-up bag. “This is so much fun! I always wanted a little sister. Now, do this with your lips.” She stretched her mouth open and he copied her. She rolled the lipstick gently across his lips. It felt weird. Nice, but weird. He never knew lipstick tasted like that – oily and waxy.

  “Eye shadow?”

  “No I really don’t – ” protested Dennis.

  “Just a little!”

  He closed his eyes as she lightly applied some silver eye shadow with a little brush. “Looking good, Dennis,” she said. “Or should I say Denise!”

  “That’s what my brother called me when he found out about the magazine.”

  “Well, that’s your girl’s name I suppose. Your name is Dennis, but if you were a girl you’d be called Denise.”

  “Can I look in the mirror yet?” he asked.

  Lisa adjusted the dress expertly before silently leading him to the mirror on the bedroom wall. Dennis gazed at himself. For a moment he was shocked by what he saw. Then the shock turned to wonder, and he laughed. He felt so happy he wanted to dance. Sometimes you feel things so deeply that words aren’t enough. He started to move around in front of the mirror. Lisa joined in, humming some made-up music.

  For a moment they were in their own crazy little musical, before they fell to the floor laughing.

  “I guess you like it then?” asked Lisa, still giggling.

  “Yes…it’s just a bit…”

  “Strange?”

  “Yes. A bit strange.”

  “You look good, though,” offered Lisa.

  “Really?” said Dennis. He was enjoying lying on the carpet with Lisa a little too much and felt embarrassed, so he got up and looked at himself in the mirror again. Lisa followed him.

  “Yeah, in fact you look great,” she said. “You know what?”

  “What?” asked Dennis eagerly.

  “I think you could fool anybody dressed like that. You look just like a girl.”

  “Really? Are you sure?” Dennis looked at himself again in the mirror, squinting. He tried to imagine that he was looking at a stranger.

  He did look a bit like a girl…

  “Yeah,” said Lisa. “I’m sure. You look amazing. Do you want to try on something else?”

  “I don’t know if I should,” said Dennis, suddenly self-conscious. “Someone might come in.”

  “My mum and dad are at the garden centre. It’s so boring but they love it there! Trust me, they won’t be back for hours.”

  “Well, maybe this one then?” said Dennis, displaying a long purple dress that Lisa had copied from one she’d seen Kylie wear at an awards do.

  “Nice choice!”

  Then he tried on a short red dress that Lisa’s mum had bought for her to wear to a family wedding, then a little yellow puff-ball skirt from the 1980s that her Auntie Sue had passed onto her, then a lovely nautical-themed blue and white striped dress that Lisa had found in Cancer Research.

  ♦

  That afternoon, Dennis ended up trying on everything in Lisa’s wardrobe. Gold shoes, silver shoes, red shoes, green shoes, boots, big handbags, little handbags, clutch-bags, blouses, long flowing skirts, mini-skirts, earrings, bangles, hair scrunchies, fairy wings, even a tiara!

  “It’s not fair,” said Dennis. “Girls have got all the best stuff!”

  “Rules don’t apply here,” laughed Lisa. “Dennis, you can be whoever you want to be!”

  ∨ The Boy in the Dress ∧

  9

  Bonjour, Denise

  The next morning Dennis was in bed lying perfectly still, but he felt like he was on a rollercoaster. His mind was racing. D
ressing up had made him feel like he didn’t have to be boring Dennis living his boring life anymore. I can be whoever I want to be! he thought.

  He took a shower. The bathroom was dark green like an avocado. Dennis had never understood why his parents had chosen such a revolting colour for a bathroom. If he had been consulted he would have installed a white antique bath, which he would have complemented with black and white tiles. But being a child, he’d never been asked for his opinion.

  To use the shower you needed the precision of a safe cracker. Turn the dial one millimetre to the left or right and the water would go either ice cold or boiling hot. Dennis positioned the dial exactly where it should be so as not to be frozen or scalded to death, and squeezed some Imperial Leather shower gel on his hand. It was what he did every morning. It was part of the grinding routine of his life. Yet somehow the world felt different. Burning with possibilities.

  Downstairs in the kitchen, John was eating his toast and chocolate spread and watching the Hollyoaks omnibus.

  “Dad gone already?” asked Dennis.

  “Yeah, I heard him leave at four. Didn’t the lorry wake you up?”

  “No. Don’t think so.”

  “He said something about having to be up early to take some cat food to Doncaster.”

  Dennis thought how his dad’s life as a lorry driver wasn’t as glamorous as it sounded.

  And it didn’t sound that glamorous to begin with.

  Dennis poured himself some Rice Krispies, and just as he was about to eat a spoonful the doorbell rang. It was a confident ring, long and loud.

  DRRRRIIIIIIIIIING!

  Dennis and John were so curious about who it could be at the door on a Sunday morning that they both rushed to open it. The postman didn’t come on a Sunday, nor indeed in the morning anymore, preferring to do his round at some hour of his choosing in the afternoon.

  It wasn’t the postman.

  It was Lisa.

  “Hi,” she said.

  “Er…” said John, now suddenly unable to form words.

  Dennis knew John fancied Lisa – he stared at her all the time at school. But then everybody fancied Lisa. She was so utterly gorgeous that probably even the hearts of squirrels missed a beat when she walked by.

  “Um, what do you want?” asked John awkwardly, unable to function properly in this close proximity to beauty.

  “I’ve come to see Dennis,” she said.

  “Oh,” said John. He turned to Dennis with a look of hurt and injustice in his eyes, like a dog about to be put down.

  “Come in,” said Dennis, loving how much all this was winding John up. “I’m just having breakfast.”

  Dennis led Lisa into the kitchen. They sat down.

  “Oh, I love Hollyoaks,” said Lisa. “Yeah, I do too,” said Dennis.

  John shot him a look that clearly stated, You filthy liar, you have never previously expressed any interest in the long-running, Chester-based teen soap opera.

  Dennis ignored him. “Do you want anything to eat?” he asked Lisa.

  “No, I’m fine. I’d love a cup of tea though.”

  “Cool,” said Dennis, and put some water in the kettle. John gave him another look. This one clearly said, You never say ‘cool’. I’m so angry I’m going to have to tear off your head and use it as a football.

  “I had fun yesterday,” said Lisa.

  “Y – yes,” said Dennis tentatively, not wanting to give too much away in front of his brother. “I had a great time…” He knew he was driving his brother insane with jealousy so added, “…with you.”

  “WE ARE MEANT TO BE GOING UP THE PARK TO PLAY FOOTBALL NOW,” said John, trying to put emphasis on every word to sound authoritative, but actually only sounding a bit mad.

  “You go ahead. I’m gonna chill with Lisa for a while.” Dennis looked at John and smiled. Lisa smiled too.

  They smiled John out of the room.

  Lisa and Dennis listened to the door shutting behind him. Lisa laughed excitedly at all the intrigue.

  “Well, how do you feel today?” she asked.

  “Well…I just feel…great!” said Dennis.

  “I’ve had an idea,” said Lisa. “Crazy, but…”

  “Go on.”

  “Well, you know what I said about how you could fool everyone into thinking you were a girl?”

  “Yes…” said Dennis, nervously.

  “Well some of the kids at school just had French exchange students staying with them…”

  “So?” said Dennis.

  “So, I thought…this is crazy but…I thought I could dress you up as a girl and take you to Raj’s and say you were my French pen-pal or something. You wouldn’t have to say much, because you know, you’d be French!”

  “No!” said Dennis. He felt the exhilaration and fear of somebody who has just been chosen to assassinate a president.

  “It could be fun.”

  “Absolutely not.”

  “How amazing would it be though? To pass you off as a girl.”

  “It’s insane! I go into Raj’s shop every day. He’d know for certain it was me.”

  “I bet he wouldn’t,” said Lisa. “I’ve got a wig my mum bought for a fancy dress party. I could put some make-up on you like yesterday. It’d be so much fun – let’s do it today!”

  “Today?”

  “Yeah, it’s Sunday so there should be less people about. I brought a dress with me, ‘cos I was hoping you’d say yes.”

  “I don’t know, Lisa. I’ve got a lot of homework to do.”

  “I’ve got you a handbag too…”

  ♦

  Ten minutes later Dennis looked at himself in the hall mirror. He was wearing a short, electric-blue dress and holding a silver clutch-bag. It was a party dress, really, not what anyone would wear on a Sunday morning to a newsagent’s shop.

  Least of all a twelve-year-old boy.

  But having Lisa fuss over him, applying make-up to his face, squeezing his feet into matching silver high-heeled shoes, and styling the wig, had been so much fun he didn’t complain.

  “Is Raj really going to believe I’m your French pen-pal?” he asked.

  “You look amazing. And it’s all about confidence. If you believe it, everyone else will too.”

  “Maybe…”

  “Come on, let’s see you walk.”

  Dennis trotted up and down the hall, doing his best impression of a catwalk model.

  “Mmm, it’s like Bambi taking his first steps,” said Lisa with a laugh.

  “Thanks a lot.”

  “Sorry, just joking. Look, you’ve got to stand upright in heels like these.”

  Dennis copied Lisa’s posture and immediately felt a little more confident in the silver shoes. “I quite like this actually,” he said.

  “Yes, it’s a good feeling, being that little bit taller. And it makes your legs look great.”

  “Is Denise a French name too?” he asked.

  “If you say anything in a French accent it sounds French,” said Lisa.

  “De-neeze,” said Dennis, laughing. “Bonjour, je m’appelle De-neeze.”

  “Bonjour, Denise. Vous etes tres belle,” said Lisa.

  “Merci beaucoup, Mademoiselle Lisa.”

  They both laughed.

  “Are you ready?” Lisa asked.

  “Ready to…?”

  “To go outside.”

  “No, of course I’m not.”

  “But?”

  “But I will!”

  They both laughed again. Lisa opened the door and Dennis stepped out into the sunshine.

  ∨ The Boy in the Dress ∧

  10

  Pickled Onion Monster Munch

  At first Lisa held Dennis’s hand to steady him. After a few paces the tottering calmed down a little, and Dennis began to walk more easily.

  High heels do take a bit of getting used to. Not that I would know, reader. Someone told me.

  Soon they arrived at Raj’s shop. Lisa squeezed Dennis’s hand re
assuringly. He took a deep breath and they went inside.

  “A good morning to you, Miss Lisa,” said Raj, smiling broadly. “I have the new copy of Italian Vogue for you. Oh my word, it’s heavy though! Like a brick! I ordered it in specially for you.”

  “Wow, thanks so much, Raj,” said Lisa.

  “And who is your new friend?”

  “Oh, this is my French exchange person…student, Denise,” said Lisa.

  Raj studied Dennis for a moment. Had they fooled him? Dennis mouth was dry with nerves.

  “Ah, hello, Denise, welcome to my shop,” said Raj. Lisa and Dennis smiled at each other. Dennis looked so good as Denise that Raj clearly didn’t suspect a thing. “It is possibly the finest shop of this kind in the whole of England! Now you can get all your postcards to send back home!” Raj picked up a packet of plain white postcards.

  “They’re blank, Raj,” said Lisa.

  “Yes, you will have to draw some sights of London on these. I stock an unrivalled selection of felt-tipped pens. So you are from France?”

  “Yes,” replied Lisa.

  “Oui,” added Dennis, tentatively.

  “I’ve always wanted to go to France,” said Raj. “It’s in France, isn’t it?”

  Lisa and Dennis shared a confused look.

  “Well, if there is anything I can do whilst you are in England, Miss…forgive me, what is your name again?” asked Raj.

  “De-neeze,” replied Dennis.

  “It’s a lovely accent you have, Miss Denise.”

  “Merci.”

  “What did she say?” asked Raj.

  “Thank you,” said Lisa.

  “Oh! Merci, merci,” said Raj, delighted at this discovery. “I can speak French now! If there is anything I can do, please let me know. Now, Lisa, before you go, I have some special offers today I would like to tell you about.”

  Lisa and Dennis both rolled their eyes. “Nine Kinder eggs for the price of eight.”

  “No, thanks,” said Lisa.

  “Non, merci,” added Dennis, growing in confidence.

  “I have some excellent bags of pickled onion Monster Munch, only slightly out of date. Fifteen bags for the price of thirteen. They are a British delicacy. Your French friend may wish to try them, and take a box home for her loved ones.”